


Failed Analysis

by potterandpromises



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Christmas Isn't Canon, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Food, Human Disaster Garcia Flynn, Humor, Miscommunication, Non-Consensual Cuddling, One (1) Murder Joke, Post-Season/Series 02, Prompt Fic, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterandpromises/pseuds/potterandpromises
Summary: Lucy has been dropping subtle hints for months. Unfortunately, subtle isn't Flynn's style.





	Failed Analysis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissCrazyWriter321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/gifts).

> Set a few months post-Chinatown.

Flynn wakes to a familiar warm weight curled into this chest. He resists the urge to brush the hair from her face, for fear of startling her, and for ending this moment too soon.

It’s become a habit, after a particularly difficult mission, or when she simply needs to talk, or be with another warm body, for them to sit and talk and fall asleep together. He feels a pang of guilt: she must have needed him last night.

7:03, the clock reads. The others will be up soon, and he briefly considers waking her. But she’s peaceful now and that’s a precious thing, for her and for him, given this tradition won’t last the storm. Hopefully whatever caused her to come here didn’t steal too much sleep. They’ll talk about it later, he decides.

The Mothership alarm goes off.

-

For once, no one died or was seriously injured, which is a success in and of itself. It was the easiest mission he can remember. So, he is moderately annoyed with his joints for aching: there is no good excuse.

(No, middle-age isn’t a good excuse.)

(And he really can’t consider what would happen if he truly got too old for this.)

Perhaps Lucy will want to watch a movie with him, as has become a part of their routine on the less heavy of days—

Lucy.

Lucy is… sitting on his bed, book in hand, and… wearing his sweater. Yup, definitely his sweater.

This isn’t the first time she’s borrowed clothing of his— she’d had to help him with his clothes and sling after Chinatown, and it had been advantageous to borrow something loose-fitting. Then there was the night she’d broken down sobbing, which ended with snot covered shirts. And, most recently before this, she’d just said she was cold. His sweaters look good on her. But he can’t comprehend the scene before him. Maybe she’s cold again, or wants comfort. But she has her own clothes. This time, there is no reason for her to want—

“I can leave if…”

“No, no,” he’s staring, and his stupid face burns, “I’m happy to have your company.” She smiles shyly, and makes room for him to join.

As Flynn settles next to her with his own book, he’s glad for the queen bed this newest safe house provides— not that he hated their last arrangement: Lucy atop his chest. But it didn’t lend itself to casual affairs: they couldn’t read, silently, separately, but together, as they do now.

Flynn doubts he’ll get much reading done at present, though. They still have to talk about this morning, and for that matter, her current choice of fashion. But her contentment is enough to delay it, leaving him to stew.

Is she ignoring what happened out of guilt? they’d talked about that. Embarrassment? they have to be past that by now, right? Denial; simple distress at the memory? Maybe she just wants to move on.

“Lucy?”

“Mm?”

“Are you okay?”

She stiffens next to him, and it’s barely felt. Then she sits up, and he follows her example, licks his lips and waits. He won’t push any further. After a moment, she closes her book with more care then necessary and stares at him, on guard, analyzing. He swallows, it’s been a long time since she’s looked at him like that.

“I’m fine,” she says slowly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gestures vaguely, and she flashes a playful smile. It dies unreciprocated. ”Well, last night—” he starts. “You’ve been more…” he searches for a word that won’t sound accusatory, “affectionate—”

She laughs involuntarily. “Walt, is that what this is—” Something shifts, her smile fades. “Do you not… want that?”

Flynn doesn’t understand the question. Obviously, he doesn’t want her to be in a bad place. But that doesn’t seem to be what she’s asking.

Without an answer, she comes up with her own, and she looks _devastated_. He reaches out, but she’s already moving away, almost felling out of bed. “I’m sorry.” She’s wiping away tears. “I should go—”

She’s already at the door, and his chest is tight. “That wasn’t a criticism.” She stills, and with one hand on the doorknob, turns back to him. Her eyes hold weariness, and something he can’t name. “I enjoy your company,” he continues, wondering how she’s not internalized that, and knowing the answer. “I’m just… concerned.”

Relief visibly washes over her, and he can breath easier too, but it’s tainted with confusion. “So you— I should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll see you later,” she promises, exiting in haste.

The bed creaks as Flynn falls back, exhausted and deeply bewildered.

-

At the top of the stairs, Flynn watches Lucy make tea, which she only drinks to self-soothe. He doesn’t like seeing her this way, but somehow, it’s reassuring to know he isn’t the only one still affected.

Despite his best efforts at analysis, he’s no closer to understanding what happened. It seemed she wasn’t coping well, and he confronted her about it. But clearly, he badly miss-read the situation. And as a result, led her to believe she wasn’t wanted, that what she did and needed was a burden. It was only for one, horrible moment, and he’s knowingly done far worse, but still, it weighs on him. 

They need to talk, need to understand each other. Flynn takes a deep breath, tries to cast a friendly face, and steps on the squeaky board he ordinarily avoids on principle. Lucy looks up, then away, uncomfortable.

Okay.

He tries to catch her eye, to offer a smile. But she avoids it, causing Flynn to give preparing his cereal the same focus he affords missions against Rittenhouse.

“That milk is low.“ When he turns, she’s looking into her tea. “There’s a new carton behind the casserole.”

With some reluctance, he sits down across from her. And as she stares to his right at an unappealing mark on the well, Flynn rather wishes he were defusing a bomb. But it’s not like they can avoid each other for long, so: "Are we—”

“You really don’t get what I’ve been trying to convey these past few months.” He stares, and so does she. And before he can ask for clarification, she sighs, frustrated. “Do you honestly believe that I couldn’t ever have feelings for you?” it’s enough for him to short circuit, “Is that it?“

Her eyes are glistening now, and before he realizes it, one hand is halfway to her. But he stops dead, and his fingers close around nothing. He isn’t— she can’t possibly mean…

But there is no other way to take it.

(Is there?)

It’s happening again; except no one’s about to die, and her mother’s body is long decomposed, and Wyatt is fast asleep. And it wasn’t an accident this time, she could have given any number of half-truths or told him to drop it and he would have accepted that. But she wants him to know. She wants _him_.

(Why?)

“Flynn?”

“I thought…” It comes out croaked. “When I saw you taking with Wyatt after— you know,” but she doesn’t know, “I sort of assumed that was where you wanted to be. Long-term, romantically.“

“No.” She looks more defeated than ever. “No, that’s in the past. Why would you even think that?” There’s offence in her tone on the latter part, and he doesn’t blame her: she deserves better. But clearly, that isn’t how it works.

“Well, there’s certainly plenty of reasons not to,” a million, “but I know love isn’t always convenient— ”

“And I fall in love with you!” she bolts up and the chair scrapes violently against the floor, “_Not_ him.”

Flynn is certain his heart has stopped; her’s too, by the way she recoils in on herself. And they stay like that, faces turning bright pink, Flynn distressingly aware of how someone probably heard that and they’ll have to ether explain themselves or bury some bodies. Then Lucy grabs her tea with enough uncoordinated force to spill it on herself. And he’s far too eager to fetch a towel.

He wants to leave, to process or maybe ignore this (_in love_), but you can’t unring a bell, and the last thing he wants is for her to think she’s scared him away. So instead, he hovers nearby as she dries her sleeve off and avoids his gaze. 

“It could have been a bomb,” he points out.

“What?”

“Our misunderstanding, it could have been about a bomb.”

Her lips twitch, then she gives in to laughter. And when she looks up again, he does his best to reflect her glory in a reassuring smile. “What I’m I going to do with you?” There’s fondness, and love, _love_, in her bright eyes, the one thing he’d never, ever wanted to hope for. But he did, and she is here.

“Whatever you want.”

With pursed lips, she tilts her chin up. “How do you feel about ice cream?”

-

They lay on her bed, empty bowls temporarily abandoned in favor of cuddling without excuses or false assumptions. “You know, I thought you were flirting back, I mean I guess you were, since you do— “ _love_, he loves her, she’s known for awhile, “Like me.”

She’d had doubts about the exact nature of their relationship, but he’d made his feelings, his expressions when he thought she wouldn’t notice, difficult to honestly interpret as friendship. So, she thoroughly examined the evidence, as any good academic would, and concluded that the butterflies must be mutual. And last night, she worried she got it all wrong, read too much into it, saw what she wanted to see. But no, the last six months could not just be written off as a misunderstanding; rather, they’re just bad at this.

“This um, isn’t the first time I’ve done that.” Lucy shifts in order to rise her eyebrows at him. “Lorena casually said we were dating, and that was news to me. Good news.”

Half atop his chest, she laughs. Somehow, it feels good to know he’s always been like this.

She climbs upward, so she can rest, and feel his heartbeat under her cheek. “So you want to do this,” she murmurs, because she has to, “Not hiding thing?”

He’s silent too long, and despite all the evidence, she’s scared. “Yes, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I'm so glad you're here.
> 
> Prompts were: "That's in the past," and "I fell in love with you, not them."


End file.
